


You sing like an angel

by 0a_maiz_ing0



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Human AU, M/M, Protective Alastor, angel is a great singer, but then again does anyone, radiodust - Freeform, uh fuck i never know how to tag shit lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0a_maiz_ing0/pseuds/0a_maiz_ing0
Summary: Having just started his radio career, Alastor is desperately in need of more viewers for his show. Frustrated by his boss' lack of confidence in his abilites, he wonders the streets for another victim to take his agression out on.He instead finds the voice of an angel.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 87





	You sing like an angel

**Author's Note:**

> what is up, drama alert nation. First radiodust fic and fuckin godamnit I'm sad and wanted to write about boys in love please sue me.

"Another piece of news for you - and this is a juicy one! - Earlier this evening a man was found disected in Pirates Alley. Witnesses say that the parts were scattered down the streets in various locations, this seems to be another strike from the infamous serial killer that's been roaming recently these past months. So remember, Folks, stay safe out there and goodnight!"

Alastor sighs as he leans back in his chair, nodding slighly as his assistant, Russell, gives him confirmation that they were off the air. Exhaustion seeps into his skin as he attempts to relieve some tension in his body by stretching his fingers out in front of him. 

"Another great show, Alastor. Can I getcha somethin'? Some tea perhaps?"

"That would be swell, Russell" Alastor mumbled, trying to give a thankful smile but his face didn't seem to be working currently.

Russel smiled regardless, scuttling out of the room in search of a kettle.

Alastor closed his eyes and leant back in the chair. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair in vague frustration. These shows have been getting harder and harder to do alone; most of the topics bored the host and the shows go on for way too long. Admittedly, todays show had been a brief exception, getting to talk about his latest kill had been vaguely thrilling. But utterly spoiled, in Alastor's opinion, by the fact he had to expend most of his energy on maintaining his calm facial expression. The host had also been told, on multiple occations, that his retellings of the killings went on for far too long and were starting to 'disturb the audience'. 

A brisk knock at the door wakes Alastor up from his brooding with a start.

"You can come in Russu-"

The door creaks open.

_Oh fuck._

"Ah, Hello John. What a pleasant suprise"

"Alastor, nice to see you, lad! do you have time for a chat?"

_fucking great_

"By all means, have a seat"

The man slithers into the room and drags a chair from the side of the table, smile turning tense. John, Alastors boss, had been becoming increasingly annoying these past few weeks. Demanding, in not-so-subtle passive agression, that the show hadn't been pulling the numbers that John wanted. It was, infuriating, to put it lightly. But Alastor had no choice but to be civil and complacent as this degenerate belittled his career. Or he wouldn't have a career anymore.

"So what is it you want to talk about?" 

Alastor didn't need to ask. He knew.

"Ah, well I hate to keep going on about this but the the listeners have been going down again, recently. Your coverage of local killings certainly had brought it up alot, no doubt about it. And I think we can all agree we want it to stay that way, yes?"

Alastor nodded, smile tense, not trusting his teeth not to grind together if he decided to speak.

"Then we are gonna need some change around here, right? Think on it, yeah?"

This was a clear threat and Alastor knew it. If the company thought that the show was losing any amount of money then the host would be fired immediately.

Summoning all his courage and willpower, Alastor managed to grit out:

"Absolutley"

"Excellent!" John's smile turning slighly more threatening for a brief moment before shifting back to his usual fake charm.

"I'll catch up with you soon, yeah? alright, I'll see you around, Al!"

The knickname gave Alastor an involuntary shiver as he waved him out with the most convincing smile he could muster.

Russell quickly returned with the tea, bright smile plastered on his face. Sensing the tension in the room, he quickly shifted to being more cautious and politley set the tea on the table. Alastor barely managed to get out a thank you as Russell dashed out of the room. 

Hands wrapped around the cup of tea, he sipped and let his anger fade to a simmer.

* * *

Alastor had always been good at surpressing his emotions when it really called for it. Putting on a smile when all he really wanted to do was laugh maniacly as he ripped apart his employer. But, alas, there was a time and a place for all of that and at his office in the ever-busy city center of New Orleans was not it. However, there was a secret to Alastor's chilly exterior, one that ensured he became the emotionless host he needed to be. 

Killing. 

Maybe once or twice a month he would travel out to the outskirts of the city, where the roads got quiet and the streets got thinner, alleyways more tucked away and crowds filtered. The host would pick out a man, with a suit and a sly smile, and he would stain the floor with his inky red emotions. Sometimes he would laugh and other times he was deadly silent. However, the type of man he chose was always the same, eyes sleezy and grin crooked. He'd killed a woman once, just to try it out. He regretted the decision almost imediatley. The scared eyes were too familiar.

The host shook his head to try and ponder something new as he walked through the humid streets. The stars were visable tonight so he decided to take a stroll down a park, find a bench and admire the stars for a while. He could already tell the conversation with his boss had hooked too much anger out of him and he needed to take it out on someone. But he could pretend to be sane for a few more minutes. For fun.

Gold light from the lamposts was streaming through the cracks in the trees. Alastor takes a second to admire how it flows down onto the path in front of him, softly smiling. A mumbled comment from his right knocks out a quiet surprised gasp from the host. Reeling back, Alastor’s eyes fell onto a sleeping form on the bench next to him.

The man must have been a similar age to Alastor given his youthful face and hairless chin. He had blond hair, pale face and freckles dotted across it like the constellations Alastor had been observing moments prior. Legs were curled in slightly as the man slept uncomfortably against the hard wood of the bench. Weirdly, He seemed to be dressed in very high end clothing for someone sleeping on a bench. He wore a grey suit, form fitting enough that Alastor had to assume it was tailored professionally.   
  


The whole scene looked almost poetic, gold light streaming through the trees to highlight the mans soft skin. Alastor found himself momentarily entranced by the mans soft breathing, clear in the silent park.

This was him. Alastor was almost sure this man was wealthy enough to have a house and plenty of money, given his attire. He must have gotten drunk, had his way with some woman and passed out on this bench so he didn’t have to face his family. It’s the only thing that made sense to Alastor.

The park was empty, too. It was the perfect victim.   
  


Oh how the host looked forward to days like this. It was the perfect scenario, too!

He crept around the bench slowly, minding not to step on anything that would alert the man. The plan was: come from behind the bench, cover his mouth with his hands and then drag him deeper into the park forest so the fun could begin.   
  


Alastor’s luck had seemed to run dry at that exact moment however because the man sneezed himself awake suddenly. And Alastor, who was inches away from the man, scuttled behind a tree silently.

” _Porca miseria_!” The man grunted, irritably.

Alastor didn’t speak much Italian but he understood enough to recognise the language. He held his breathe as he pressed himself up against the tree, praying the Italian didn’t hear it.   
  


“Can’t a guy getta good bench around here?”

Alastor almost snorted. So, he could speak English. Weird accent, too. New York maybe?

”Stop talkin’ to yourself, Antony..” 

The man sighed but it was mixed with a sad laugh. Alastor could hear him shifting positions on the bench. Silence consumed the space and for a few minutes and Alastor began to worry that he might be here all night. Just as he was planning a safe escape route, the man started humming a tune. It didn’t sound familiar to Alastor but it captivated him regardless. The man, _Antony_ , slowly but surely added lyrics to the melody.

And suddenly, Alastor was entranced. Antony’s voice was like sweet honey in his ears, dancing through his brain playfully. The soft words, though in Italian, soothed Alastor’s whole body. Soft notes and quiet wind was making Alastor dangerously nostalgic. The song took a slightly sad turn as Antony’s silky voice slowed and his voice started to shake. Alastor pressed his head against the tree softly and closed his eyes, taking in every note Antony was willing to gift to the space. Memories of childhood flooded behind the host’s eyes; humming as he cooked in the hot summer, the first time he had heard the radio, his mothers eyes as she sang him a sweet lullaby. Tears were welling up before Alastor had a chance to stop them, they were crawling down his face endlessly.   
  


He let them. His head tilted back against the trees, eyes screwed shut. And even after the song was sung and Antony had presumably fallen back asleep - Alastor stood there, motionless. He stayed there for another half an hour before trudging back to his apartment, eyes puffy and very confused. Although, he was sure of one thing.

He needed to find that man at the park again.


End file.
